The Legion
by Qualapec the She-Wolf
Summary: Raign lost her Persian three years ago during the Northern War. Haunted by the war and the death of her pokemon she has become a bitter, drunk, recluse. But can the need to protect Ash and co. from a familiar threat reawaken her warrior spirit?


Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or anything else that anybody in the known universe could sue me for. I own nothing.

AN: Well, this idea kind of hit me. I considered what it would be like if there was a war in the poke-verse. And if there were what would the aftermath be for the soldiers that fought in it. Raign and Michael are my original characters and the young veterans of the story. I won't tell you too much about it. Also, although this story primarily focuses on Raign (yes, it's just 'rain' spelt the obnoxious way with useless letters.) Ash, Misty, and Brock...and Team Rocket naturally, will all have important roles. Well, it's a really big role because they kind of bring the plot to my characters. Anyway, just read, please.

The Legion

Chapter One: Raign

Raign Alexander found she liked the dark. Or at least partial dark. She was perfectly content to sit with her heavy combat boots resting on the dining room table as orange sunlight filtered in through the windows. It illuminated the half-finished bottle of brandy and the amber liquid appeared jewel-like.

She guessed all she needed was an office with a bullet hole through the door, and a fan to circulate the smell of cigarette smoke and she'd resemble every P.I. cliché there was. However, she didn't smoke. There was no fan. And the large house she'd bought for the sake of solitude did not resemble some grimy office.

Reaching over to the bottle of brandy, she poured herself another glass. Already she felt the numb as her body went beyond 'buzzed' and into 'drunk'. Drinking didn't make her feel good. In a way she hated the vile, burning substance that she poured down her throat on a daily basis. But, it kept away the feeling of loss, and the brandy got to be drunk, so in a way it was a win-win.

Sudden, violent images of blood on clean white snow assaulted her thoughts. She bit her lip and threw back a sip of brandy. It burned as it went down. Raign found herself focusing on that instead of memories.

By the time she was done with that glass she rose to her feet, or tried to at least. Dizzeness made even that a difficult task. Eventually she steadied herself and put the cap back on the bottle of brandy. She thought about putting it away, but didn't bother. It wasn't like she had to worry about anyone else drinking it.

Slowly she staggered down the hall, past the large entrance hall where she would greet guests. Trying to ignore the obnoxious chandelier that glowered over her. It was big, gaudy, not to mention old in the worst of ways. However, she was for the most part too drunk to feel comfortable climbing up on a ladder and removing it. Raign didn't want to shoot it down either; that would just _wreck_ the hard wood floor. So instead of removing it she allowed it to go unclean out of spite. Allowing dust and grime to collect on the once crystalline decoration.

Although there were ten nice rooms on the upper level, Raign slept on a lower level room that must have been a broom closet or something. It was simple, big enough for her clothes and enough room to get dressed. A window equipped with nice blinds to block sunlight when she didn't want it. There was a military cot with a sleeping bag on it that took up a fourth of the room by itself. Right next to it was the very neatly organized dresser, a surprising trait for somebody most people called a drunk. She supposed that her time at the Legion had programmed neatness into her DNA.

Kicking off her boots and laying down at the cot, she stared at the pictures that lay atop the dresser in frames. Three simple pictures. One of her entire garrison. Most of the people in it were dead; the same went for the pokemon in the picture. Another picture was of her, in full Legion dress with her Persian in her arms. The third and final was from when she was a young trainer, just after she'd won her first badge for league competition. Again her Persian was in her arms, only this time she was brushing up against Raign and purring. They'd both been basking in the joy of victory back then...Before the war. Before she realized that it was all a load of bull...

VVVVV

Raign awoke to a pounding on the door that resonated through her head. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the _bright _sunlight coming from the window. Who the hell decided sunlight had to be that _bright_?

There was another set of three knocks on the door, paying close attention, she realized it was wood knocking on wood. Relief flared through her hangover. Michael. It'd been long enough since he came to visit.

She rose from her cot and rubbed her throbbing head before opening the door and walking out towards the reception area. As she passed a mirror in the hallway she examined herself. Dark hair cut chin length lined her face a little messed up from sleeping on it. Light blue eyes stared back at her, red and puffy from sleeping and the alcohol consumption. As she left the hallway she grabbed a conveniently placed pair of sunglasses and slipped them on just as another round of knocking, more furious this time, rattled her brain-turned-slurry. Raign opened the door mid-knock.

A young man with legion cut brown hair (a couple shades lighter than her own) met her. Finely chiseled jaw with the slightest hint of five o'clock shadow included. And dark brown eyes. He held a lovely wooded cane, which he'd been using to knock on the door while he leaned against the other door. If she'd been anyone else, she wouldn't have noticed the fine slit running around the cane near the handle, signaling where the two parts were separated.

"Y'know," She said, "One of these days I'm going to open up the door on the left and you're going to fall on your face."

Michael grinned at her, "Well, I don't think that'll happen."

"Don't think; you'll hurt yourself."

A bark drew her attention to the large Arcanine standing not too far away. His muscles rippled beneath the fur as he stalked over with a couple of bags full of goods wrapped in a leather net so he could carry it in his mouth. She took it, ignoring the hot dog spittle.

"Everything you need," Michael told her, "Rice, meats, eggs..."

"Booze?"

His expression went dark, "You know I won't supply your addiction."

Raign glared at him, "You make me go into town to get my brandy? It ruins my reputation as a recluse you know that, right?"

"You can't stay out here forever," He replied.

Raign couldn't hide the sudden irritation. "Watch me. Now do you want to come in?"

"Sure. Arcanine!" He yelled to his pokemon.

Raign recoiled, "Hold a sec, I love the dogasaurus as much as you do, but he doesn't come inside."

Michael gave her a look, "Yeah, like he'd want to come inside your dingy house when it's a perfectly nice day outside."

Raign looked out at the shiny day. Such a fricken nice with all the Pidgey flying around. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"I guess the perpetual hangover kind of makes it hard to appreciate the sun..."

"Are you coming in or aren't you?" She tried not to snap, Michael was nice enough to bring her supplies when she needed them.

He didn't say anything as he limped inside and followed her to the kitchen, but, Michael was Michael and he couldn't keep his prying mouth closed for too long. "You know, I've been speaking to Goldbloom at the Gym and he'd really like you to come down and teach there."

She opened her mouth to say something cynical.

Always knowing her too well, Michael headed off her interruption, "Let me finish. It wouldn't have to be every day, just twice a week at most. Just to come down to town and share some of your experience with the young trainers. Nicely."

"...That's not going to happen..." Bitterness was laced with her words while she put the supplies he brought her away. "How can I? All I feel when I look back on it all is anger. Anger that I was so freakin' stupid when I was their age...angry that they are probably the exact same way I was then..."

Michael didn't know when to give up, "Then share what you know. Share what you learned so they don't have to go through the same thing you did."

Pain. The same pain that made her drink awakened inside her, unleashing a flood of memories and the emotions to go with them. "What the hell good would it do? How could anything I say make a difference to those young trainers when the culture they grew up in thrives on letting other's do their fighting? Humans are a lazy lot, why would any of them do anything when they have someone else to do it for them? The only way they'll learn is through experience..."

Michael sighed; this was always the part of the conversation where he gave up for the time being. "Suit yourself...I just hope this drunken-cynic thing you're going through is only a faze. Not a permanent fixture of your personality."

_Yeah,_ she thought, _you only feel that way because you didn't lose your pokemon...your partner._

Seconds after she thought it she felt bad. That wasn't fair, and she knew it. Michael may have still had Arcanine, but he'd lost just as much as she had. Good friends and comrades who died right in front of their eyes. She heard him limping away, "Michael..." She stopped herself, and only said, "Please close the door when you leave."

"Raign," He said, "If you get the chance you should really go outside today...this will be the last of the nice weather before the winter storms hit. We won't be seeing the sun for a long time..."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." She replied curtly, maybe a little coldly.

VVVVV

Michael limped outside and shut the door behind him, just as she had asked. He sighed, a thick heavy sigh of hopelessness. He looked up at Arcanine. The pokemon cocked his head to one side as if asking 'well?'.

"No dice...Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth trying..."

"Arcanine!" The dog barked. Michael smiled.

"I know, I can't give up. I know she wouldn't in the case of role reversal...But...I just don't know what to do."

He vaulted onto Arcanine's back, ignoring the sudden, violent tremors in his injured leg. Signaling that he was ready by brushing a hand through Arcanine's mane. The large dog leapt forward and started running at a fairly decent speed down the road to town.

Cold wind bit through the warmth of the sun; "Hello..." he said to himself, "Where did that come from?"

Arcanine came to a sudden stop, a low growl coming deep from within his chest. Michael looked around, wondering where the gust of cold had come from. "That's strange," he mused, "That the air would get so cold all of a sudden...winter shouldn't be due for another week or so."

It was a gust of wind? What could it possibly mean? 

_Well, lots of things to somebody who fought in the northern war..._

He killed that thought. Jumping to conclusions was a generally bad idea. Getting worked up over a jumped to conclusion was an even worse idea.

He found himself nervously laughing it off, "Gee. At least I'm not becoming paranoid or anything..."

Besides, he had bigger things to worry about.

For instance, the quickest route to teaching someone how to be a human being again.

VVVVV Chapter End

AN: Short, but I hoped it introduced the characters good enough. Well, if you're down to this note then I assume you've read, so please review.


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